


Deceiving Dining

by manipulative_broken



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cannibalism, Deductions, Dialogue, Dialogue Heavy, Dinner, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, John Angst, M/M, Mentioned Irene Adler, POV Sherlock Holmes, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Quote: Eat The Rude (Hannibal), Rude Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Makes Deductions, Sherlock is a Brat, decieve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 05:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17037878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manipulative_broken/pseuds/manipulative_broken
Summary: This is a crossover between Sherlock and Hannibal! *squeals* I loved writing this! Take note both take place after their *cough cough* falls, like the Reichenbach Fall and after the Great Red Dragon where Will and Hannibal survived and are on the run. :D (take note that Dr Williams IS our Doctor Hannibal Lecter, hope it doesn't get confusing uwu) Please enjoy!





	Deceiving Dining

**Author's Note:**

> heyyooo its me again! I hope you enjoy this fic, for both Sherlock and Hannibal fans. It sure was an interesting crossover to write.

“Sherlock, Dr Williams.”

“Dr Williams, Sherlock.”

The two men stood before each other, John meekly standing in the middle. Smacked in between the two, he looked…darn short, like a whole 10cm shorter. Sherlock stood unblinkingly, before reaching out a hand. Dr Lecter shook it firmly and smiled. “Doctor Williams.” Sherlock spoke curtly, his voice sharp, resonating around his office. Doctor Williams chuckled, low in his throat before smoothly fixing the edge of his waistcoat, tucking it neatly in. Sherlock followed the movement.

“Please. Call me Lecter.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

“So, you are, _were_ , John’s psychiatrist, recently. Only a few days.” Sherlock spoke dismissively, wandering around the office. His fingers trailed around a classic black stag statue by the doorway. Sherlock wasn’t really surprised, he had been informed by Mycroft that an older man had been visiting John in his house for a few times before Sherlock announced his arrival. He just didn’t expect _this_ man.

Hannibal cleared his throat and crossed his legs, leaning his body backwards on his leather chairs. Meanwhile, John sat across him, gaze never leaving Sherlock’s drifting frame. He raised a glass of wine to his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. When you pretended to commit suicide before his eyes.” John stammered for breath, nearly spilling the cup as he hurried gaze flew over to Hannibal, who remained emotionless as always. He cocked his head towards Sherlock who strode towards them, “Or did you not realize the depth of how much you traumatized John?”

Sherlock stopped walking, standing besides Hannibal. John saw him flash a look at him, and he groaned inwardly sinking back into his seat. He knew it wasn’t a good idea to accept Hannibal’s dinner invitation, especially after Sherlock ‘came back from the dead’. He also couldn’t stop Sherlock from coming along, he _was interested in his doctor’s house_. Sherlock fixed his sharp gaze on Hannibal, and for once he couldn’t detect anything from his face, nor his expression; it was like Mary all over again. He coughed, fixing his scarf around his neck, “I had my reasons.”

Hannibal coolly deflected the excuse. “Is it valid enough that you left John in agony for two years?”

“Yes.” A tightness filled Sherlock’s throat at that. He wasn’t used to this overwhelming presence that seemed to surround him; John really picked the best psychiatrist.

Doctor Williams returned his gaze to John, who was awkwardly fidgeting in his seat. A sharp glint in the doctor’s eyes that John missed, but Sherlock barely caught. “How’s your wife?” John halted, mouth opening for a few seconds, but nothing came out. His gaze flickered to Sherlock, then a hardness set in, resting his hands on his legs. “She’s fine.”

“That’s good.” Then, Hannibal stood up, and Sherlock, a mere inch away from his seat, shifted backwards in a flurry, hitting the table behind. Hannibal’s eyes locked onto his, and Sherlock felt his throat dry, the dominance flooding and breaking his calmness. He expected something, but only a sharp gaze, then Hannibal strode away towards the door. He clicked open the door.

“I invited John here for dinner. Would you like to join us Mr. Holmes?”

Sherlock wanted to say no, but there was something about this man that fascinated him. He wasn’t boring in the least, with their conversation of a few seconds still lingering in the pathways of his brain. Rarely did words stick to his palace, here they still echoed. John made a small noise, and he glanced at him. “Come on, Sherlock! I brought you here already. Besides, he’s a fascinating chef.” From the corner of his eye, he saw a slight tug of Hannibal’s lips, and he thought, “So he’s narcissistic.”

“You flatter me, John.”

Maybe not that narcissistic. Sherlock scanned his face for any sign of cockiness and came back with a blank page. Gods, this man was… _exciting_.

At that he nodded. “I hope your definition of ‘dinner’ isn’t boring.” He teased, padding toward the open door. Hannibal’s gaze lowered, and with that John quickly passed him and turned the corner first. Sherlock scoffed. If this man was offended this quickly, he-

Hannibal’s quick momentum nearly made his brain shove him out of the door. The door locked shut, the click now sounding threatening. He loomed over him, generally the doctor had a few inches on him, and Sherlock’s eyes widened. This time, only one word flashed on Hannibal’s face.

 _Alpha_.

A smirk, quirky and odd on the man’s face, his atmosphere elegant and graceful and professional (unlike Sherlock’s), Hannibal’s voice lowered by an octave, an accent he didn’t managed to detect previously thick in his voice, “Oh, I’m sure dinner will be _intriguing_ for your exquisite tastes, Mr. Holmes.”

He left Sherlock standing there stunned. After a few moments, he blinked, shaking himself out of the daze. “Wow.” He muttered, his heart racing. His words had sent chills down his back, a rare occurrence for Sherlock, who had willed himself his whole life not to feel emotions. Until John. And now John found the other one capable of doing so as well, but this time the doctor knew it.

He licked at his lips and strolled towards the kitchen, where a thick aroma was already drifting in through the dining room from the kitchen. A huge clear window panned behind the head seat, and snowflakes tumbled down from the sky, crystalizing across the window pane. He took a seat besides John, who prodded at him, “What did you two talk about?” Sherlock smiled smugly, “The food. “John arched any eyebrow but didn’t question it.

Besides him, Sherlock exhaled, watching his heavy breath mingling with the frosty air. A shadow drifted back and forth in the kitchen, expertly moving around the dishes and plates.

Hannibal had gotten under his skin in the first few minutes they met. Now it was his time to tempt the doctor.  


**Hannibal POV**  


He balanced the tray of dishes along his arm. He was glad he had prepared enough food for three; after hearing John ramble and sob and moan about Sherlock, and so to comfort the man, he invited him to a dinner party. Then last minute, John had frantically and (quite rudely) dialed him outside of work hours to scream into the phone that Sherlock was alive, causing Hannibal to have to drop his meeting with Will to cook up more food. He was already disliking Sherlock by the minute, but he couldn’t deny that unlike Franklyn, Sherlock was irritating yet so intriguing. No wonder John is so fascinated by him.

Just like how he was fascinated with his Mr. Graham-

“Lecter?”

He blinked, internally flushing as he realized he had been pausing in the kitchen hallway. Sherlock had his gaze pinned firmly on him, and as their gazes looked, neither men looked away.

He curtly nodded, “Terribly sorry.” and quickly strode forward. Hannibal lowered himself and placed the plates down, first John then Sherlock. As he slid the dish before Sherlock, the man leaned forward towards Hannibal’s ear and uttered, “Who are you thinking about, Mr. Williams?” At that, Hannibal had to force himself not to clatter the plate unceremoniously.

“It’s Dr Williams, Mr. Holmes.” That sly man, he wasn’t even attempting to hide the smirk that pulled at his lips. Extremely rude indeed. Too scrawny for his tastes though. Maybe he wouldn’t kill him.

Sherlock Holmes, world’s greatest detective. He thought. A great detective truly.

He watched John shoot Sherlock a fierce look as the other kept his mouth shut, grabbing the fork and pocking at it. “Sherlock!” John hissed. Barely batting an eyelid, Sherlock coughed, “Do you have tea?” Momentarily, sherlock glanced upwards and his eyes were glowing with pride. Oh, he was playing a game, Hannibal would happily join in the fun.

Hannibal pushed his seat backwards, buttoning his jacket along the way. He grabbed Sherlock’s glass, and had to take a double take when the glass in hand was empty. Sherlock arched an eyebrow, eyes gleaming. Well, at least he didn’t let the wine go to waste. “I will get you some tea, give me a moment Mr. Holmes.”

“Of course, Mr. Williams.”

He walked off into the kitchen, internally chuckling at his antics. It was like having Will Graham in the dining room right with him, just less empathetic and more irritating. He grabbed the tea pot and filled a mug.

When he went back into the dining room, Sherlock had barely touched his plate and John had half gone. “What’s in here?” He prodded at the food once more. Hannibal inhaled, setting the cup down. He had slaughtered men for way less than this. “Chicken and beef, along with a side of mash potatoes and croutons.” He explained, settling into his seat.

“Actually Mr. Williams, mind getting me some salt?”

Halting midway above his seat, Hannibal had to shove a growl back down into his throat. He minded. A lot. He sat down and raked his hazel’s down Sherlock’s body probably just as well as he is reading him. His collar was buttoned, and as seen in pictures, he rarely did so. He ignored Sherlock’s request and cocked his head towards his outfit.

“Feeling uncomfortable, Mr. Holmes? Or is it too cold?” He knew his words struck nerves when Sherlock flinched slightly, barely visible but his eyes dilated, indicating yes. Sherlock’s long fingers fiddled with the button and it popped open. The whole time he avoided his gaze. He quickly predicated what Sherlock would do next.

The moment the button was released, Sherlock’s head shot up, green eyes flashing. He watched it tumble around rapidly, scanning his clothes. He’s heard of what he does, his mind able to carefully construct a criminal’s backstory and actions through pieces of evidence scattered vaguely around their physical sense. Just like Will Graham, just more emotionally stable.

Despite Sherlock’s famed reputation, he knew he wouldn’t be able to detect anything important.

“Your nails are cut neatly. No sign of grim. You…you must have had gotten this food from takeaway.”

Hannibal nearly scoffed, leaning backwards into his seat. He glanced at John, who was watching Sherlock’s ‘deduction’ incredulously.

“Are you accusing me of claiming credit of takeaway, just because I have good hygiene and wash my hands after I cook?”

Sherlock’s breath hitched slightly, and he couldn’t help feeling slightly cocky of being able to make the stoic detective break.

“Sherlock- “

“Shut up, John.” The man growled, clearly agitated at being best at his own game. He tried again, “You have dog hair on your clothes.” Hannibal glanced at his shirt, indeed there was a single darn strand. He could never rid the house of dog hair after that dreaded day when Will brought everyone over for a few days. “Means you have a dog. Or had a dog.” Sherlock threw the punchline as fast as he blinked, “You cooked the dog.”

Even Hannibal was rendered speechless, much less John. He couldn’t even speak, not knowing whether to argue back or break composure and laugh. He never had the urge to laugh so badly in his life. Oh, this detective was hilarious.

“Mr. Holmes...” He spoke raggedly, willing himself not to lose the formality and burst out doubling in laughter. “I, I do not have a dog. Nor had a dog. The dogs belong to my friend, Anthony. I have no intention of cooking the poor mutts. I have to say, Mr. Holmes, being so known for deductions, they are rather obvious.”

The doorbell cut Sherlock’s sharp snarl off. John looked confused, “I’m sorry, was there supposed to be another guest? Were we supposed to wait?” Hannibal waited a few seconds for the next knock, before standing up. “No. I will get it. Enjoy your dinner.” He directed the word to Sherlock, and he delighted in watching the detective mutter obscenities to himself, yet his fingers still brought the meat to his lips.

He opened the door. Out there in the snow, a pearly snow bead on his nose, Wil Graham stood. “Nice to meet you, I’m Dr Lecter Williams. Why are you here?” Hannibal spoke, quickly giving Will the signal of his play.

Smirking, Will pulled a small container out from his bag. “I cooked some food, Dr Williams. Wanted to eat together but you weren’t at…home. Assumed you couldn’t resist coming back.” There was a loud clatter, and he was sure Sherlock had purposely dropped the plate on the table.

Upon hearing the sound, will paused, and his gaze tinted darker. “Who and how many are inside?”

“Only two. John Watson, my patient-”

“You had a patient, Hannibal? Ah, I should have known, you were disappearing for a few hours a day. Thought you had someone else.” Will teased, but threat lingered.

Hannibal smiled.

“I hope you’ll play along, Anthony.” Will registered the code name, before shrugging playfully, “Why not.”

“Oh, and Sherlock Holmes is in there too.”

Will stilled. “Sherlock Holmes. The great man at deductions.” Will wasn’t one to be jealous, but apparently Sherlock triggered something in the younger man. “How good is he? At deductions I mean.” Hannibal couldn’t resist smirking, and brushing the bead off his nose, he smiled, “He thought I cooked a dog, based on your dog’s hair on my sleeve and the missing presence of the dog. He almost got it.”

Realizing that even Sherlock made mistakes, Will laughed. But then immediately stopped. “Almost got it? Hannibal…”

He glanced downwards, where a package lay just near the doorway. “Oh no…Hannibal!” He groaned exasperatedly. Hannibal only winked at him, picked up the parcel and escorted him inside. “The postman was rude.”

As he stepped in, he watched how Sherlock’s attention immediately drifted to Will Graham. Politely, John stood up and shook his hand, “Nice to meet you…”

“Anthony.”

“Nice to meet you, Anthony.” John lowered down and quietly sipped at the wine. Hannibal was in tears at how Will casually twisted away from Sherlock and neither men paid each other any attention yet the tight tension between them suddenly chugged in the room, the air thickening.

The deconstructing empath and brilliant deduce. Oh, _what a party._

John watched them in utter confusion, eyes peering up from above the wine glass.

Hannibal gracefully pushed his plate to Will, who had taken a seat besides him. He had barely taken a bite with how much Sherlock had distracted him. Will flustered with the plate, breathing heavy as he stared at the dish, then back at Hannibal.

“Organic meat?” He whispered, and catching on quickly, Hannibal teased back, “Fresh from the market this afternoon.” He glanced furtively at Sherlock, wondering whether the hook would be baited. It did.

Sherlock jumped the moment his deduction formed in his head. “You didn’t go to the market today. It has been snowing all day, and there’s no paved ways for your car to move, nor was there snow in your garage. It’s completely clean and dry, no indications of snow at all, Dr Williams.”

Will pursed his lips in fake consideration. Hannibal opened the Tupperware Will brought over, and a slight burn taste wafted to his nose. Scrambled eggs. At least he tried.

Before Hannibal could get the chance to debunk the words with a sharp excuse, Will cut in. “You were snooping around in Lecter’s garage? That’s mighty rude of you. Furthermore, couldn’t Lecter have cleaned the garage?”

“No one cleans the damn garage- “

“Lastly,” Will’s voice darkened sharply, dropping down an octave. His eyes were hooded as he stared at Sherlock. “He’s Dr Williams. Not Mr. I thought you had better manners than this, Sherlock Holmes.”

Hannibal touched his shoulder and noticed his temperature had spiked up. Probably from flaring up so fast after being in freezing weather. “Relax, mylimasis.” Resting his hand near Will’s pulse, he felt how it suddenly pounded at the name. That struck something in him. Did Will learn Lithuanian?

Will’s outburst left Sherlock stunned monetarily, a savageness he saw erupt something Sherlock probably wasn’t used to in London. Here in Baltimore, killers ravaged and stalked freely. Taking the distraction, Will turned to Hannibal. He passed him a fork. “I tried, _mano meilė_.” A small wink, before Will starting eating.

Hannibal knew exactly why his heart was racing.

Sherlock tossed his cup towards Hannibal and stood up uncivilly, dragging the chair behind him noisily. John hissed at him, “Sherlock, you-“ Once again, Sherlock rudely interrupted him, and whispered something to John. He couldn’t detect what he had said, but there was a dark musk of overconfidence and heat that drifted to his noise. Sherlock walked with power towards his duffel and extracted a glass bottle. Surprisingly how it hadn’t shattered when Sherlock had thrown the bag onto the sofa with a thump.

He came back and placed the bottle before Hannibal. Will leaned in closer.

“SHERLOCK!” John thundered and leapt to his feet. Hannibal raised his hand, waving nonchalantly. “Enjoy your wine, John. I don’t mind.” Before his eyes bobbed a pair of eyeballs, who knows from where, strung and floating in some sort of bubbling acid. He could tell Sherlock had expected some sort of dramatic reaction, from the way he was looking at him expectantly, but none came. Nothing from Will either, who only blinked, lashes fluttering. His eyes were widely dilated, hands creeping up the table as he lightly tapped the glass jar.

“Did you kill a woman for her eyes, just so you could inspect it like a specimen, detective.” A plain question. Not a deduction. Sometimes Hannibal wondered how they even met, when forces and planets had torn them apart for at least half of his life. How he managed to stumble into this man’s world of manipulation and caged darkness. Right now, he wasn’t bothering to shut the cage.

Sherlock was clearly bothered, not believing the reaction before his eyes. “No…”

Will released his grip on the glass bottle. “Black strands of hair on your shoulder, too long to generally be a guy. Could it a guy. But the tips are curled and there’s more than one strand.” Will paused, and Hannibal smiled to himself, slipping a piece of nearly burned eggs into his mouth. “Are you so twisted that you would-“

A raspy moan burst out from inside Sherlock’s bag.

A lengthy silence descended onto the dining room.

Sherlock burst out in a grin, eyes wrinkling. “And, that will be the woman of ‘the black strands of hair’” He mocked, before retrieving his phone and walking away to answer the call. John stood up alongside Sherlock. “Was that Irene? Irene Adler, really Sherlock?” His voice trailed off as the two men turned the corner into Hannibal’s office, leaving only Will and Hannibal in the room.

Will exhaled, resting his head back. His plate was clean. “Was my food good, _Lecter_?” His tongue rolled on the word.

“Do you want me to be honest?”

“Don’t lie to me Dr Williams.” He could hear the teasing tone clear in Will’s voice.

“It’s really bad.”

Will scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly. “You ate it all.”

“For you.”

Blushing, Will turned away. Hannibal smirked.

Finally, after a moment of silence, Sherlock busted back in, before quickly turning the corner to head towards Hannibal’s door. John looked apologetic. “I’m so sorry, we got a case. The food was delicious, thank you Dr Williams!” then he followed Sherlock off behind the walls.

Then there was a gruff noise behind the door that resounded into the kitchen. A familiar one. Will and Hannibal exchanged looks.

Swiftly, in a pure act of smugness, Hannibal recorded some words onto a device, before placing it carefully on the sofa. He cleaned p the plates in a second, before reaching for Will.

“It was a fun dinner party.” Will nuzzled Hannibal’s jaw as they padded to a secret exit leading to the back of the house. Hannibal kissed his forehead gently and whispered, “Yes indeed.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　　 ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Sherlock yanked open the door, barely noticing the shadow before him. He bumped into a larger sized man, and he growled, before realizing it was FBI.

“Agent Jack Crawford. What are you doing in Dr Lecter’s house?”

“Dr Lecter? Who-“

“The wanted cannibalistic killer. Him and Will Graham are on the loose, now tell me again what you are doing here?” Jack grunted, resting his fingers on the gun. Immediately John’s skin went clammy and equally Sherlock froze behind him.

“We were having dinner with Dr Lecter Williams.” Horror sunk in on both men as realization dawned. “Oh gods, we were eating human…” Jack didn’t even hear John’s mumble as he shoved past him, racing down the hallways and turning into the kitchen.

“GOD DAMN IT!” He roared, firing a bullet in pent up anger, shattering the statue on the mantle piece. The dining room was empty.

The one day Lecter’s house wasn’t guarded, with everyone on a case, nobody sparing enough time to stand guard anymore, after all those days nobody came back to the house. And then they came and Jack missed them both.

He stomped back out to the two men in the doorway. Snarling, he pulled them back into the house, ignoring Sherlock’s refusal as he yipped on about having a ‘case’.

“Why were you interacting with Dr Lecter?”

“He…he was my therapist after…something happened. I heard the news, but I never went to see how he looked I didn’t recognize him at all. And Sherlock always thought the news was…boring.”

Heaving, Jack hissed, “So he had a dinner party with you two.”

“Yes. Will Graham come later in the dinner.”

“Do you know where they might have gone?”

“No. We were on our way out already. Hannibal had just said goodbye and then you appeared outside the doorway.”

Jack sighed, then angrily he shoved the men out of the house, “Leave!” He shouted, before sinking into one of Hannibal’s reclines and cupping his face in his hands.

A small beep. “Jack Crawford. Sad you missed the party.” All nerves and senses went on sudden overdrive as Jack cocked the gun steady in front of his face. He then noticed the recorder on the other recliner.

“It was really fun indeed. Might have been more entertaining with you there.”

“You could have brought the meat.” Will’s Graham’s light voice drifted over the audio in background. A chuckle. “Yes, you could have. But sadly, we had to go. It would have been great to see you, Jack.”

The recorder clicked, and the recording stopped.

Jack jerked, before snatching up one of Hannibal’s vases and hurled it to the ground, the beautiful antique shards scattered everywhere. Furiously, he swiped up the recorder and tucked into his pocket.

“I’ll get you, Hannibal. One day.”

He slammed the door shut on the way out.

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thank you for reading! did you like it? either way feel free to drop a comment along the way, like suggestions, improvements or any other ideas you would like to see! :D


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